Notebook 10th Writers' Poll

In MUBI Notebook's annual poll, the contributors pair their favorite new films of the year (2017) with older films seen in the same year to create fantastic double features. Here is what I can offer as one of 2017's so many ideal and less than ideal double-bills. The first bill features the underappreciated Wajib, the third feature by Annemarie Jacir and her best work so far. -- EK

NEW: Wajib (Annemarie Jacir, Palestine)
OLD: Time Without Pity (Joseph Losey, 1957)

On the surface, simply pairing two father-son films (of which there are probably far too many out there), striking the so-called universal chord. However, here, the universality is only secondary, if not entirely irrelevant, to what binds them internally—it is in their particularities of that relationship and their ties to the place (Nazareth/London) that a decent double-bill might emerge. Both films never abandon their political agendas but somehow move to more personal territories. They, in fact, are about those "territories", personal or impersonal: characters with their vague hope traversing in hostile cities in which the place of the saved and the savior is interchanged.

A Fantasy Double Feature of 2016

From MUBI Notebook's 9th Writers Poll: Fantasy Double Features of 2016, an annual poll in which contributors pair favorite new films of the year with older films seen in the same year to create fantastic double features.

NEW: Nocturama (Bertrand Bonello, France)
OLD: Hue and Cry (Charles Crichton, 1947)

Two propositions about Europe, enunciated through acts of dissatisfaction and revolt against two of its key cities, Paris and London. And if that’s vaguely the motivation for pairing the two films, yet it is a complementing contrast which curiously brings them together.

The comics in Hue and Cry intrigue the imagination of a group of east London teenagers. Then, the imaginary becomes real and transcends the post-war ruins. Nocturama is about the reverse process of reality evaporating into a shopping mall fantasy. The online world, instant communication, and the social media are the visual comics of contemporary life whose superheroes are the account holders. Eventually, the revenge of the Facebook-era les enfant terribles against consumerism and globalization sees a funny turn when they are consumed by the very goods that surround them and give them their identities—a predictable encounter between Dawn of the Dead and PlayTime. But here, in the shopping mall sequences of the two films (the British one is on Oxford Street), is where exactly the point of convergence lies, when the films reduce the difference between human figures and models to nothing.

Fantasy Double Feature of 2015 (for Notebook's 8th Writers Poll)

NEW: Ella Maillart: Double Journey (Antonio Bigini, Mariann Lewinsky, 2015)

SLIGHTLY OLD: Jag stannar tiden (Gunilla Bresky, 2014)

VERY OLD: Casting Ella Maillart (Jean Grémillon, 1926) [short]

Though the terms “double journey” appears only in the title of one of the main two films, they both are cinematic double journeys. They exist because someone has undertaken a difficult trip, filmed it, and now a contemporary filmmaker can put the fragments of the past together and reconstruct not only the journey but also a lost cinema.

One traveler is Swiss, the other, a Russian. The Swiss Ella Maillart (1903-1997) drove her Ford car (accompanied by Annemarie Schwarzenbach) all the way from Geneva to Iran and Afghanistan, documenting on film and photograph various stages of the trip. The Russian war cinematographer Vladislav Mikosha (1909-2004), filmed the atrocities during the war (most of which were deemed too distressful to be used in propaganda newsreels), and as a part of The American-Russian Cultural Association made a trip to Hollywood where he dance with Hedy Lamarr.

Both films are about using cinema as means of leaving the troubled world behind and escaping to a new safe zone. Yet, both stories are reminiscing of post-digital filmmaking, where film footage, text and travel (to film festivals?) come into the service of the adventurer/narrator.

Jag stannar tiden is more about the Second World War, though Double Journey is also dealing with it from afar where the war appears in the form of news pieces and speculations in Maillart’s diary book. Nevertheless, they both are conceived as visual diaries. In Ella Maillart’s case, the diary is used as the map/script of the journey/film by Lewinsky/Bigini. Mikosha’s diary is arguably more elaborate and detailed. He is not allowed to film while on a mission in London, so text is the only means of picturing an ordinary night in the life of Londoners when they keep watching an Ingrid Bergman film under the blitz. The cinema screen trembles throughout the screening, as if Ingrid Bergman, thousands of miles away shooting For Whom the Bell Tolls, is trembling in fear for Europe. Later on, Mikosha tells that story to Bergman herself and she cries.

Regarding things that cannot be filmed, Maillart remains more clandestine and when she’s not allowed to film something, it doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t do so. That’s how in the middle of the film I caught a glimpse of my hometown in color. Most probably the first color footage of Mashhad, Iran in film history, Maillart secretly films the Holly Shrine of Imam Reza and its golden dome.

Between the two films, one can be given the chance to observe Ella Maillart in person, as documented by Jean Grémillon’s camera. Casting Ella Maillart lasts for two minutes and is nothing short of a painted portrait. Hence, one can see the whole programme as an investigation into various landscapes of the soul, when the outer world is a projection of what the traveler feels or wants to feel inside.

Notebook's Fantasy Double Feature of 2010

NEW: Certified Copy [Copie conforme] (Abbas Kiarostami, Italy/France)
OLD: Hallelujah I’m a Bum (Lewis Milestone, 1933)

WHY: It’s true that my guilty conscious had some effect on picking Copie conforme, though it was an outstanding film itself, needless of any guilty conscious to be the criteria of a choice. I had some rough, and probably unfair, judgments on Kiarostami’s films, after The Wind Will Carry Us, and in the shadow of post-June-2009 happenings in Iran these judgments became harsher. But now, I can read the filmmaker’s thoughts more clearly, because I know if he had made any film the way that people of his country wanted he would now have his own share of 26 years. Of course,  the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance has considered Copie unscreenable in Iran. But that doesn’t affect Kiarostami’s reputation, in or out of his homeland. Inside, the usual bunch of opponents call him a coward and a fake, and on the other side, many more find him one of the few who can give them back a part of the lost honor of a nation. He has his followers and protégés; not so strangely, none of them working in Iran anymore, and of course some of them, like Jafar Panahi, do not and will not work at all. But Kiarostami continues his cinematic journey, this time in Italy, and makes organic films like they are part of a change of the weather or any other natural occurrence. He is coming from a country full of frustration, a country facing its biggest troubles ever, but he is still focused on details (a kid’s notebook, a hobo’s marriage proposition after a demolishing earthquake, drivers driving Tehran street without showing any real life on those streets), details that are not related clearly and directly to the problems. Does he have any message for his own people?  The answer is hardly a yes, but maybe his continuity is the message. Wouldn’t he be forgotten, like many filmmakers with clear telegram-like messages before and after the 1979 revolution, if he had stopped being Kiarostami?
To fill the gap, to have another perspective rather than pleasant landscape of Tuscany, to remember people are losing jobs, and to not forget that not very far from now, after recent political/economical changes in Kiarostami’s homeland, a new wave of poverty will sweep up the nation, let’s watch Lewis Milestone’s masterpiece of the American left, Hallelujah I'm a Bum, about central park hobos and their hopes and dreams during the big depression; a Milestone that shows us (and Kiarostami) how can fantasy explain bitter reality. Juliette Binoche is much like Al Jolson. In the end, they both are left alone with undying hopes in hand, and tears in their eyes. Binoche and Jolson are the integral of people in Iran, today.

Notebook's Fantasy Double Feature of 2012

NEW: Museum Hours (Jem Cohen, USA/Austria)
OLD: Chartres (Jean Grémillon, 1923) + Bonjour Tristesse (Otto Preminger, 1958)

WHY: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our special double bill. Tonight, first of all, in Museum Hours, you will see Jem Cohen’s camera getting into paintings and exploring the mysteries and humors of space in this cinematic encounter of recently deceased Chris Marker and Brueghel. During our 10 minute interval, if nature is not calling you, please, stay seated and watch a short film, by the greatest revived director of the year, Jean Grémillon. In Chartres, Grémillon displays more possibilities of spatial representation on film and that “universal anguish transmitted by figurative representation.” He also shows some angels crowning the columns of the Chartres cathedral. In the second half of the program, screening newly restored Bonjour Tristesse, one of those angels, Jean Seberg, will descend from column to embody the story in which each scene is treated like a dense architecture/painting composition. While Cohen sees the essential pleasure in the careful observation of ordinary life, put next to the solidness of art and architecture, Preminger’s world is built on the lives of characters whose being is defined by arts, as if they are elements of the space or brush strokes in motion. I hope you enjoy tonight’s show and my final recommendation is listening to Bill Evans’ You Must Believe in Spring album, on your way back home, so your elation of being in the presence of great art be completed. Bonne projection!

Notebook's Fantasy Double Feature of 2013

NEW: My Name Is Negahdar Jamali and I Make Westerns (Kamran Heidari, Iran)
OLD: Ride Lonesome (Budd Boetticher, 1959)

WHY: In recent years, some of the best films coming out of the most unlikely parts of Iran (this one from Shiraz, the city of great grapes and poets) have rethought cinematic genres in different ways, and, occasionally, have managed to bring to the centre the marginalized, unsung heroes of Cinephilia in the country. It is in such context that My Name Is Negahdar Jamali and I Make Westerns shines; it hilariously recreates many familiar western settings while focusing on the life of a simple, poor worker/farmer who loves making westerns. Heidari’s film shows Negahdar trying to make a new western with local friends and reveals how in the process he loses his house and family and eventually, like a traditional cowboy, is left on his own to vanish into a horizon.  The film, in its dry, hopeless feeling and its landscape of decadence, is much closer to Budd Boetticher than John Ford (whose legendary introductory line has inspired the title of this film). Negahdar is more or less a synthesis of both Boetticher and Randolph Scott. His minimalism and no-budget, semi- experimental films, like a crossover between the poorest of B westerns and Jack Smith, stands out as ultra primitive drafts of Boetticher’s westerns, and, on the other hand, his individualism puts him is the same category as Randolph Scott’s laconic avengers. In Negahdar’s guileless, unsophisticated westerns (that we see within this film), as much as this bittersweet portrait of the man at work, a burning passion for cinema, unprecedented to anything else I’ve seen this year, keeps stunning me.

Notebook's Fantasy Double Feature of 2014

NEW: The Wolf of Wall Street (Martin Scorsese, USA)
OLD: Twentieth Century (Howard Hawks, 1934)

Aside from featuring two of the most obsessive characters in film history whose quest for keeping the show going on gives a new dimension to American Madness, they’re both narrated in the way bodies move in closed spaces, where work space continuously metamorphoses into stage and performance space. One can effortlessly be charmed in their sheer lunacy, their staccato choreography of bodies, and in the cocaine/booze eyes and stiff jaws of their leading stars. If it takes 4 ½ hours to endure this unapologetic double bill, probably another 4 ½ days is needed to digest it, recuperate from its orgy of greed, and come to realize that it was some horrible thing to see.

Daily Notebook's Third Writer's Poll